


What Happened At Hogwarts

by PseudoLeigha



Series: The Reasons Mary Potter Still Isn't Done (Works in Progress) [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 14:55:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11420340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PseudoLeigha/pseuds/PseudoLeigha
Summary: A canon-compliant between-the-lines and behind-the-scenes look at the Deathly Hallows, told from the perspective of Ginny Weasley and Severus Snape. Main characters: Gin, Luna, Neville, Snape. No pairings. Gin has taken the lessons Tom Riddle taught her to heart, Luna is crazy like a fox, Neville is just starting to come into his own, and Snape is… Snape.Luna is coordinating the resistance with Snape; the spymaster to his spy. Ginny is the Phoenix, the visible symbol of resistance and the Death Eaters at Hogwarts make a living martyr of her. Neville is the Paladin, the foundation of the resistance, the leader children learn to follow to survive.Really, knowing that Luna is in control of these shenanigans – or at least as in control as it is possible for anyone to be said to be – should tell you everything you need to know about the story.This story can easily be considered a prologue for Nineteen Years Before, and the dynamic between Snape and Luna in Dreams of Hades is compliant with this story as well.





	What Happened At Hogwarts

Sunday, 31 August 1997

It started on the train.

Or maybe it started when the Death Eaters stormed Bill's wedding, or when Harry Potter port-keyed through their wards days before, or when Ginny and her brothers eavesdropped on their first Order meeting, or when Voldemort came back, or way back in 1992, when a book asked 'Who are you?' and she responded.

But something did change, on the train.

Ginny, for the first time she could recall, was on time to catch it – even _early_. After the attack on the wedding, the Burrow had gone from far-too-full to far-too-empty in a matter of hours: Ron, Harry, and Hermione had disappeared in the confusion; Fred and George returned to the little flat over their shop as soon as the 'Aurors' finished questioning everybody (and verifying 'Ron's' 'spattergroit'); and Charlie and the Delacours had had to catch their port-keys back to Romania and France. Bill and Fleur had stuck around for a bit, helping to clean up and set things to rights, but then Fleur had insisted, with a hint of black humor that made Ginny like her a bit more, that they go and enjoy their wedding night: "We cannot allow a silly thing like zis leetle war to get in zee way of living our lives, oui?"

Ginny had been left in her tattered golden bridesmaid's dress with her exhausted parents in the much-battered Burrow, trying to think of where they ought to go to lie low: no one had died, but many of her cousins had been taken to St. Mungo's, and the wards on the property had been broken. They eventually settled on Aunt Muriel's. The awful woman was an Order sympathizer, if not a fighter at her age, and it wasn't as though she had many friends to give them away.

A week later, defenses at least minimally repaired, they had returned to the Burrow. Ginny, at least, couldn't help but feel that it was no longer quite the same _home_ she had grown up in, defiled as it had been by the Death Eaters. Some things stayed the same, like her mother's fussing about and her father's long hours at work, but an ominous air closed in around them as law after law was passed, restricting movements in and out of the country, defining muggleborns as non-citizens and then criminals, and perhaps most terrifying of all, at least for Ginny, the dissolution of the Hogwarts Treaty.

Her parents didn't seem to realize, but she was sure this could mean only one thing: hostages.

Her fears were only confirmed when Hogwarts attendance was made mandatory, and they received the news that _Dumbledore's murderer_ was to be made Headmaster in his stead. Still, her father thought he would do the most good for the Order at the ministry, so they couldn't go on the run – her parents at the very least had to be seen to be cooperating. So she was at King's Cross on the appointed day, early for the first time in her life.

She took the compartment at the very back of the train, the one that had become the Golden Trio's, somewhere along the line. Luna joined her a few minutes later, with a sunny smile that belied their situation. When Ginny went to cast an anti-eavesdropping spell on the door, she stopped her.

"We're still waiting for the Paladin," she explained nonsensically.

"Who?"

"The knight-champion, who will lead us in the coming war." She pulled a Quibbler from her bag and pulled her feet up on her bench.

"D'you mean Harry? He's not coming back – he's on a mission. I don't know what – Hermione's damnably good with her secrecy charms. But he's been gone for weeks already. And why aren't you wearing any shoes?"

Luna looked at her feet in surprise and cast an illusion of boots over them. "The Nargles can't steal what they can't find. And no, not Harry, he's the Chosen One. He must go on his Quest, and the Paladin must protect the Castle. It is written."

"Where is it written?" Talking to Luna was always an exercise in patience.

"Page three," the blonde said, tossing her another copy of the Quibbler. It looked, Ginny thought, rather more serious than the usual Lovegood fare.

"'Wrackspurts take hold of Ministry: Latest list of affected officials, page…' what is this symbol? Leo?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "'Rotfang Conspiracy Gaining Ground, page Fehu; Heliopaths on the Rampage – Prophet Under Attack, page one; Lost and Found, page thirteen'" she hesitated. "Luna, is there supposed to be more to this issue?"

"No. Thirteen is the seventh page. It's numerologically advantageous, and the Lost Souls need all the help they can get."

"See, this is the reason no one reads the Quibbler!"

Luna rolled her eyes. "You know, Ginevra, your parents weren't the only ones who lived through the seventies. When the time comes, people will read it, and until then, daddy will be underestimated by Peter Pan, just the way he likes it."

Before Ginny could assemble a response to _that_ statement, there was a tentative knock on the door.

"You're late," Luna called, and Neville stumbled in.

"A wizard is never late, Luna," he smiled weakly. "And anyway, it's still a quarter of. Plenty of time."

Luna ignored his words and passed him her magazine. "You may cast your spells now, Ginevra."

"Wait – Neville's the Paladin?"

"What paladin? Like the knights of Charlemagne?"

"Page three."

Neville shoved his trunk into the rack and started flipping through the pages. "The third page? The one numbered 'B'?"

"No, the one numbered 'three.' After one, Fehu, and B, and before Leo, Dzelo and thirteen."

Ginny focused on casting anti-eavesdropping spells, rather than trying to figure out the twisted Lovegood thought processes behind the page numbers.

"'Help wanted,'" Neville read out, "'Positions Filled since Last Publication: Chosen One: Harry Potter; Death Eater Liaison to the Minister: Pius Thicknesse; Head Heliopath: Barnabas Cuffe; Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry: Severus Snape; Head of the Muggleborn Registration Committee: Dolores Umbridge; Minister of Magic: Rufus Scrimgour; Professor, Defense Against the Dark Arts 1997-1998, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry: Amycus Carrow; Professor, Muggle Studies 1997-1998, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry: Alecto Carrow; Undesirable Number One: Harry Potter. No additional applications will be taken.

"'Available Positions: Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (anticipated). Position requires flexible moral standards and a strong sense of self-preservation. No Hufflepuffs or Gryffindors need apply. Opening anticipated by the end of the year. Please send CV and Letter of Intent to Pius Thicknesse, Death Eater Liaison to the Minister.

"'Head of the Order of the Phoenix. Position involves advising resistance movement and assisting in vigilante activities. Fondness for lemon drops preferred, but not required. Only those who already know whom to contact are encouraged to apply.'"

Ginny winced. It was still too soon for that one, especially since Mad Eye had gone, too.

"'Knight Bus Conductor. No experience required, though it is preferred that applicants at least have ridden on the Bus before, as it can be quite a shock the first time, and the last thing we need is conductors losing their lunches all over the customers, innit? Fair pay, no benefits. Send letter of intent to Ernie Prang, Head Driver.

"'Paladin of Hogwarts. Duties include – protecting the school from outside influences; preserving the spirit of the Charter and the Treaty; advising the student body on proper conduct; and embodying the virtues of all four Founders. Those with conflicts of interest need not apply. Position currently open. Application must be made in deed, not word, and will be judged by the Sorting Hat at its discretion."

Ginny would have stopped there, to puzzle through how the position apparently applied to Neville, but he didn't, moving on to the next, far more amusing 'job posting': "'Professor, Defense Against the Dark Arts 1998-1999, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Honestly you will be lucky if you don't die. Requirements have been loosened: now only required to be willing to sign the legal release – breathing optional. Headmaster willing to apply for work visa on behalf of vampire applicants, should they be otherwise best suited for the position. Please send CV and Letter of Intent to Headmaster Severus Snape.'"

That one made all three of them smile slightly, as did the one that followed.

"'Third Lieutenant to the Dark Lord. Duties include: hosting the Dark Lord and Death Eater Revels; contributing financially to the Cause; leading raids and missions at the discretion of the Dark Lord. Must be quick-thinking and able to deal with the responsibility for unexpected setbacks. Bonuses and perks dependent on successes. Warning: high rate of turn-over, occasionally terminal. Applications open to all, though those with experience will be given priority. Send CV and Letter of Intent to Bellatrix Druella Lestrange nee Black, the Dark Lord's Most Faithful, at Malfoy Manor.

"'Undesirable Number Two. Duties include: infuriating and/or foiling ministry officials at every turn; breaking the laws of Magical Britain; and/or otherwise making a public nuisance of oneself. Position currently open. Application must be made in deed, not word, and will be judged by consensus of Ministry Personnel, the final decision to be made by the Head of the DMLE, in conjunction with the Death Eater Liaison to the Minister.'"

Ginny was laughing now, slightly hysterically.

"Blimey, Luna," Neville said, passing the magazine back to the blonde. "Your dad's going to be murdered in his sleep."

Luna looked unconcerned. "Of course he won't. They all think he's mad. He's been under cover longer than Professor Phobetor. No respectable wizard reads the Quibbler for anything but a laugh, you know. And if you read it carefully, he hasn't actually declared himself for one side or the other."

"No," Ginny snorted. "He's just bound to piss off everyone equally."

"That's how you can tell a good reporter is impartial – by the diversity of his enemies," she smirked. _Smirked_. Luna Lovegood didn't _smirk_! Or at least she didn't _used_ to, Ginny noted, as the blonde looked over herself and Neville, rather more sharply than usual. "Hmm… Since Harry and Hermione aren't here, you should do it, Neville."

"Erm… do what?"

"Is this the Paladin thing again?"

"Yes, and call the meeting to order."

"What meeting?"

"Oh, fine, I'll do it," Luna rolled her eyes. "I hereby call this meeting of Dumbledore's Army to order."

Ginny's jaw dropped open, but it was Neville who objected.

"Dumbledore's Army has been decommissioned, Luna."

"We're un-decommissioning it," was the uncharacteristically firm response.

"Is that what all this Paladin stuff is about?" Ginny asked, still confused.

"Of course."

"Wait – you want _me_ to be this… this Paladin, and lead the DA? Why? I'm not – I'm not good at Defense, or – or –"

"You don't need to be," Luna informed him bluntly. "The left-over potential of a Destiny barely avoided clings to you, Neville. And you're good with people in a way Ginevra and I aren't."

"Hey!" Ginny thought she was plenty good with people. She had come a long way in the past three years.

"You're fire, Ginevra. Neville's earth. You're inspiring. He's genuine. Men would follow you into hell in a blaze of glory, but frightened children will learn to survive under his leadership. You each have your part to play. And you're not good with people. You're just good at pretending."

"What do you mean I have a Destiny clinging to me?" Neville interrupted Ginny's snippy reply.

"A destiny _narrowly avoided_. Once upon a time there was a prophecy, now lost forever, except if one was to go ask Trelawney in exchange for a bottle of sherry. The Chessmaster really should have obliviated her after he showed her the memory. But la – he chose two, and the Thief chose one, and left the other to be the shield as he forged the sword against himself."

"In _English?_ " Ginny asked pointedly.

Luna smiled serenely. " _Parce que Harry Potter est l'Choisi, Neville Longbottom doit être le Paladin_."

"Are you… are you a Seer, Luna?" Neville asked hesitantly.

"I don't have the Gift, but that doesn't mean I can't See."

Ginny snorted. She had asked the same question when they were six, and had been given the same answer. There had never been _any_ doubt that Luna would go to Ravenclaw with her riddles and obfuscation. "She's an oracle, Nev, not a prophet," she explained, as Mrs. Lovegood had once done for her.

"And just as well," Luna shrugged. "No one ever believed Cassandra."

"You do a _great_ job at convincing everyone not to listen to you, anyway, so I hardly see that it matters."

"Those who need to hear will hear. What do I care if the rest haven't ears to listen?"

Ginny gave up. "So Neville's the leader, this Paladin of yours. What are our roles?"

The dreamy smile vanished, shifting into one with far more teeth and a threat behind it. "You, Ginevra Phyllis, will be the Phoenix, and I will be MI7."

"MI7?" Neville asked.

"The magical branch of the Intelligence Service," Luna explained. "They report on Department M to Mycroft Holmes and the government of the Crown… which are oftentimes the same thing."

"Wh-?"

Ginny kicked the seventh-year before he could ask whatever tangent-inspiring question he had in mind. "Don't ask if you value your sanity. So Luna's Intelligence, which makes a strange sort of sense, as everything she says is in some sort of code _anyway_ , and Neville's the Paladin and our virtuous leader or whatever. What do I do?"

"What does a phoenix do, Ginevra?"

"Um…"

"It lives and dies and lives again," Luna explained patiently. "It is loud and bright and attracts all the attention as a glorious symbol of the Light incarnate. It burns and falls and rises up brighter than before. Neville will organize the defense. You will lead the offence."

Ginny stared at her oldest friend in abject horror. "You want me to… _what?_ Be some kind of a martyr?"

Luna looked more certain than Ginny had ever seen her. "Amycus and Alecto Carrow are Death Eaters of the worst sort. They are _sadists_ , Ginevra. The only worse fate for Hogwarts would be if the Blackheart was made Headmistress. You _are already_ the Phoenix, come back to life after first year, burning brighter against the darkness than you did before. I _know_ you. You will not be able to stand by and watch Death Eaters torture first-years while there is still breath in your body. What I want doesn't matter."

"You're mad! I'm going to keep my head down, play the good little hostage and pray Harry finishes his mission before the Death Eaters decide to kill my whole family!"

"No, you're not," the oracle replied, in the calmly fatalistic tone she did so well, as if she knew everything, and nothing Ginny could do would possibly change it. Then she smiled. "But I won't say I told you so." And she laughed.

Ginny's heart sank. Somehow she had a feeling that this year would be even worse than she had expected.

…

Severus Snape sat in the Headmaster's office, awaiting the arrival of the train and the arrival of his new Death Eater 'staff members,' fuming.

He hated this room.

If possible, he hated it even more now than he had when it had been occupied by Dumbledore, full of chiming, whirring cacophony and light and lemon drops. The light was still there, in the airy tower office, but the rest had gone.

He had never realized, before, but the presence of a hundred or more eyes, staring down from the walls, was a major detriment to his focus.

Like sitting before the Wizengamot… all the bloody time.

At least Dumbledore's portrait had awoken and explained the situation to the others before he became tempted to set fiendfire to the lot of them, and damn the consequences.

"Don't worry, my boy!" that painting said jovially, as though he could legilimize Severus from beyond the grave. "The beginning of one's first term is always a bit nerve-wracking, but I'm certain you shall do fine."

"Shut _up_ , you insufferable old muggle-lover," Phineas Nigellus Black drawled from his own portrait. "Severus, you ought to have killed him before he became so obnoxiously senile."

This pronouncement caused an uproar from the others, many of whom still held a certain fondness for the Headmaster of the last four decades. Dilys Derwent, in particular, was rather shrill.

Severus grabbed the Sorting Hat unceremoniously by the tip, and stalked out of the circular space. Whichever idiot started the tradition of keeping his predecessors' portraits near to hand, he decided, must have been a masochist.

He made his way to his favorite tower instead – the Scryer's Tower, with the silencing charms, and the medieval aesthetic, with no enchantments other than the construction and protection wards to befuddle the senses. It was less comfortable than most of the castle – no heating or air circulation enchantments, no torches, no cushioning on the plain wooden benches, no cleaning and pest-repelling charms. There was no better place in the castle to clear one's head. And he feared that, this year, he would need every ounce of clarity he could muster.

"So it has come to this," the Hat said softly, whispering aloud from its perch on his head.

Severus sighed. "So it appears."

"I warned Dumbledore, you know. I warned him, but he always was too headstrong by half to listen to good advice when it was freely offered."

Severus snorted softly. "You know they say that Dumbledore was the only wizard the Dark Lord feared?" The hat hummed its agreement. "I suspect it was rather the opposite."

"Oh?"

"The Dark Lord always enjoyed tweaking Dumbledore's nose. Half this war was meant to prove to him that he was never as infallible as he thought. Dumbledore, though… He spoke of it like a chess game, like the Dark Lord was the only other person in the world who was anything other than a pawn to be moved at his will. And that terrified him. The Dark Lord fought hard to break free of Dumbledore's control – to gain enough power that he need not bow before the Defeater of Grindelwald. I would rather have liked to see a world where the elder had not been so threatened by the younger… where he had taken him under his wing that first day, rather than made an enemy, clumsily and for life…"

"You know of that?" The Hat sounded surprised.

"The Old Goat had few secrets left from me in the end." The one advantage he had always had over Dumbledore and the Dark Lord alike was the fact that he had honed his natural talent for legilimency to a keen blade. Dumbledore had done his best with no raw talent for the subject, but had never attained true mastery of either Occlumency or Legilimency. The Dark Lord, like Severus, was a natural, but whatever Lily had done to him back in '78 had shattered his sense of proportion and subtlety. He had seen memories from the older Death Eaters, of a once-great master of the arts, but that man was gone by the time Severus grew near enough to the inner circle that he might have seen him. "I, unlike him, did not waste our thirteen-year ceasefire manipulating children and rotting my brain with muggle sweets."

The Hat made a disgruntled noise. "So all Albus' worries about keeping information from you…?"

"It certainly would have helped had he revealed certain things in a more timely manner. It took time to ferret out new secrets, which could have been more efficiently devoted to researching the relevant topics, had he but confided in anyone who had any depth of knowledge of the Dark. And he began keeping memories in pensieve vials after the Dark Lord's return to foil further inquiries. But for the most part, I have known, and kept the knowledge buried, acting as though I knew nothing more than my two 'masters' saw fit to tell me."

Severus had played a long game, putting on a show for all as a short-tempered, cruel, dark wizard. Not that he wasn't cruel or dark (or _Dark_ ), but did they truly think that any successful spy could possibly be so quick to anger and 'thoughtlessly' malicious as he pretended? Spies did not ( _could_ not) indulge in red-faced, spitting-angry temper-tantrums at the provocation of their masters, much less _schoolchildren_ , and he had been as much a spy during the interbellum as he had been since the war had returned. No, his hatred and rage had been compressed to a cold, calculating determination under layers of subterfuge and false emotions, his desire to see _both_ of his masters destroyed fueling his stubborn persistence and his infiltration of both camps – and the minds of those with power at the center of each.

How ironic was it that the Dark Lord had been more willing to delegate information and power than the Leader of the Light?

The tattered old Hat harrumphed. "What will you do now, then?"

"What can I do, but fight a Slytherin's war? The safety of all our children is now in my hands, not just the Snakes, and there is nothing for it but to give ground as slowly as possible, in the hopes that the plans set in motion before his death will bear fruit before the war is entirely lost."

If the war _was_ entirely lost, well… there were back-up plans, engineered by Severus, rather than Dumbledore, all of them rather more ruthless and violent than the old man would have accepted, but well-suited to a world ruled by the Dark. After all, Severus was bound to complete the task Dumbledore had set him, ridding the world of the Dark Lord's influence (a mission he would have undertaken anyway, as revenge for Lily's death and to free himself from slavery to a madman), but now that the Old Goat was dead, he could not quibble and limit the methods Severus chose to accomplish said task.

"The children will not make it easy for you."

"Children never know what is best for them," Severus sighed. "It is just as well. Too much cooperation would appear… suspicious."

The Hat chuckled darkly. "I do think Slytherin would have been happy to claim you as an Heir, in spirit, if not in blood, Severus Snape. I never doubted your sorting, you know."

"Nor have I, Hat. Nor have I."

…

If there was a single student who had managed to delude themselves into thinking that all was still well within Magical Britain, Ginny was willing to bet that their return to Hogwarts corrected that belief at once.

The only table in the Great Hall apparently unaffected by the new laws, the ones banning Muggleborns from a proper education, making them all criminals on the run, was Slytherin. Gryffindor had lost nearly a third of every class, sixth year and down. Sam and Helen were missing from among her own dorm-mates; Colin, Danny, and Zach from the sixth-year boys. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw faces, familiar from classes, were gone, too: Greg Roberts and Jen Walsh, Gita Kaur and the Reynolds twins. And of course Hermione, the most famous muggleborn in the school, was gone, along with Harry and Ron. Ginny scanned the long, polished table, feeling very _alone_ as she truly realized that she had become the Last Weasley at Hogwarts a whole year earlier than expected.

The Great Hall itself looked like it always did at the Welcome Feast, filled with floating candles, but Severus Snape was seated at the center of the Head Table instead of Albus Dumbledore, and there were two new 'professors' who were clearly Death Eaters. Even if Luna hadn't warned them, she could see it in their mean little eyes and the predatory looks they were giving the returning students. Slughorn was still, apparently, teaching potions, though he was quite obviously terrified. He had lost weight over the summer, and his complexion was almost as sickly-looking as Snape's. Grubblyplank was back, and Hagrid was nowhere to be seen. She, like all the other professors except Slughorn and the Death Eaters, was studiously avoiding looking at Snape.

 _Ha!_ Maybe they'd get lucky, and it would turn out Snape had bit off more than he could chew, killing Dumbledore and taking over.

The incoming class was at least five times larger than even than the one from Ginny's third year, and that had been the peak of the population explosion following the end of the last war. Most of them weren't first-years, either: Hogwarts was now the _only_ school in Magical Britain, and attendance was compulsory for all purebloods and halfbloods, so there were nearly three-hundred scared and confused upperclassmen from the smaller schools that had recently been disbanded across the isles, and another hundred or so haughty and furious purebloods who had clearly been pulled out of homeschooling. It looked like there were as many students standing, waiting to be sorted, as there were already seated at the long tables.

Where were they going to _put_ them all? Classes would be a _joke_ with twice as many people, or, well… one and a half times? How many muggleborns had there been in the school? They might as well just go ahead and say it: Hogwarts had become a children's prison, rather than a school.

There was no song. The tear at the brim of the Hat had opened, and it had said, loudly and clearly, "I am the Hogwarts Sorting Hat. Though I believe that the last thing we need in these troubled times is to be divided amongst ourselves, it is my purpose and my duty to determine to which of the four Houses new students are best-suited, and so I shall. Let the students come forth, and we shall see where they ought to go…" It sounded… _tired_ , as though it was dragging itself through this farce by force of will alone.

Snape stood, glowering at the assembled students, nearly all of whom were murmuring in concern and confusion. Even the year before, there had been a song, even if its message had been more or less the same as the one just spoken. "Let the sorting commence," he ordered Professor McGonagall, and she had called the first name on her list.

Even Slytherin was affected as the Sorting wore on, joined by poor-but-determined "transfer students" with clear chips on their shoulders and arrogant, formerly-homeschooled children who clearly thought themselves better than even the Death Eater Spawn that held sway over their new house. The new Gryffindors were _angry_ with the situation, clearly spoiling for a fight, and all the Badgers' claws were out as they welcomed their new members, but projected mistrust toward all outsiders. Ravenclaw garnered the fewest new students: there was, Ginny supposed, less pure and open-minded love of knowledge when the world was at war.

When it was finally done, Snape rose again, and it quickly became clear that he had no intention of feeding them until they had listened to his dry, scornful words.

"Welcome," he said, "to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. For those of you who do not know, I am Professor Severus Snape, your new Headmaster. Professor McGonagall is your Deputy Headmistress," (Professor McGonagall rose briefly and nodded to the hall,) "and Head of Gryffindor House. Professor Sprout," (she waved at her students,) "is Head of Hufflepuff House. Professor Flitwick," (Flitwick "stood" and bowed, obviously levitating himself somehow to remain visible above the table,) "is Head of Ravenclaw House. And Professor Slughorn," (who managed to make his bow seem courtly and unaffected, despite his fearful glances at Snape,) "will be returning to his one-time position as Head of Slytherin House. After the evening meal has concluded, your Heads of House will escort you back to your common rooms and discuss with you the virtues and expectations of your respective Houses."

The other Heads of House looked hardly more pleased than Slughorn at that. They doubtlessly hated Snape, whom Ginny was fairly certain they had all _taught_ , interfering in the way they ran their Houses. Professor McGonagall had never once, in all Ginny's years, given a speech on the virtues and expectations of Gryffindor, for example.

"Due to the rather… _abrupt_ nature of the recent changes to the Magical British educational system, I fear we shall be rather understaffed this term: I expect you all to do your best and be on your best behavior, regardless, and indeed _because_ that is the only way you can possibly be expected to learn anything under such circumstances."

 _Good luck with that!_ If Ginny had her way, the entire school would be taking up the banner Fred and George had carried against Umbridge and declaring all-out war on their new Death Eater wardens. It wasn't such a ridiculous thought. There were now twice as many students to fight back, including, she was sure, some of the new Slytherins, who couldn't all be happy with the new status quo, and Luna seemed to think they could do it.

"As we have so many transfer students this year, I believe I shall allow each of the professors to introduce themselves in their first lessons. However, on a previously-related note, I must inform you all that Professors Alecto and Amycus Carrow, who will be teaching Muggle Studies and Defense Against the Dark Arts, respectively, have been deputized to assist in maintaining _discipline_ amongst the student body in these… troubled times."

Translation: Step out of line and the Death Eaters will torture you, and I won't do anything to stop them.

"They will doubtless be at least slightly more effective in this role than an elderly squib." Now that he mentioned it, what _had_ happened to Filch? He wasn't lurking in the corners like usual. Had they killed him? "It would behoove you all to take this into account as you consider the myriad opportunities for… _mischief_ presented by the current disparity in the student-to-teacher ratio. There will be a mandatory school assembly every Saturday after dinner to address any concerns as we go forward."

Translation: I can and will put the whole school in detention if you piss me off.

"In order to allow the Professors Carrow time to fulfil all of their duties, Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons will be held half as often as they have been in the past. I know this will be a great disappointment to returning students. In the meanwhile, study groups will be formed. You will all simply have to apply yourselves a bit more outside of lessons to make up for the deficit until more instructors may be obtained. I expect older students to help younger students with their theory and casting. We must not allow standards to slip, after all, and some of you _will_ be taking your OWLs and NEWTs at the end of the year."

 _We'll show_ you _a 'study group!'_ Ginny thought, glaring venomously at him. Reduced class hours were probably the only good thing about the Carrows being in charge of 'discipline' – it would mean that many more hours to actually _learn_ something about Defense – because there was _no_ way a Death Eater was going to actually teach them to defend themselves.

"Muggle Studies is now a compulsory subject for all students, but its class periods will be similarly reduced as we determine the best method of catching everyone up to an… appropriate level. The Ministry believes it is shameful that Magical Britain allows its students to remain so ignorant of the non-magical denizens of our great state, and we must do our best to oblige them in correcting this… problem."

Ooor… maybe not, if they had to spend their extra half-class worth of free lessons in "muggle studies" – she couldn't _wait_ to see what the Death Eater bitch thought was an "appropriate" level of knowledge about muggles. What had happened to Professor Burbage?

"As always, the Forbidden Forest is so-named for a reason. If I have to write any of your parents a letter detailing how you were so stupid as to go wandering off into the middle of an acromantula colony or get yourselves shot by a centaur, I shall be most displeased. _You_ , on the other hand, will be dead.

"The Forest is the most substantial of the dangers present on Hogwarts' grounds, but new students are advised to maintain vigilance and caution" ( _'Constant vigilance!'_ Ginny thought reflexively,) "at all times: neither the school nor our shared endeavor of learning magic are entirely safe, even outside its bounds. Hazards as seemingly trivial as an ill-timed move of the staircases or an exploding cauldron can pose a danger to the unwary student.

"Prefects will be understandably overwhelmed this term, given the influx of new students, so I entreat all returning Hogwarts students to do your best to assist your new peers in avoiding the unexpected dangers posed by such a large concentration of young wizards in close quarters. It would be… most unfortunate if you failed to do so and there were any… accidents which might have been avoidable had you banded together to support each other, as housemates must."

 _Wait –_ what? Ginny couldn't help but think that she had missed something crucial, because it sounded like Slytherin, Death Eater, murderer Snape was telling them all to act like Hufflepuffs (albeit in his usual mean, vaguely threatening way). She sought out Luna's face at the Ravenclaw table, and the blonde gave her a reassuring little nod.

"I believe that concludes the beginning of term announcements, with one exception:

"This is _not_ Albus Dumbledore's Hogwarts. As many of you will now be aware, our former Headmaster has been shown, thanks to a recent exposé by an investigative journalist, to have been morally corrupt, and anyone who ever studied under him would know that he was at best neglectful of his students, and at worst a negative influence on developing young minds."

Anger swept away any confusion the sixth-year might have felt in regards to the previous warnings: how _dare_ he – the man who had _killed_ Dumbledore, _in cold blood_ – malign his memory?! And Rita Skeeter, an 'investigative journalist' – _don't make me laugh!_

"It is my intention, my very _sincere_ intention, to do everything in my power to reverse the damage Dumbledore's influence has left on this school, and return to the core principles of the Founders: dedication, perseverance, fortitude and boundless curiosity in the pursuit of knowledge."

As he spoke, the banners and ornaments in the Hall began to glow with their house colors: first Hufflepuff, then Slytherin, Gryffindor, and Ravenclaw.

Dedication, perseverance, fortitude, and curiosity.

Well, that was one way to put it.

Having 'fortitude' was, she was sure, the kindest description Snape had ever used for Gryffindors before. Being 'reckless, dunderheaded morons' was far more common, though knowing him, it held the same connotation.

Luna caught her eye as the food appeared, finally, and gave her a smile caught between hope and fear.

Ginny could sympathize with at least _one_ of those emotions, at the moment, though she would be damned if she would admit it.

…

 _Goddamnit_ , Severus thought, using the muggle curse in the privacy of his own head, simply because he could, and it was that kind of day. The speech had stirred the already-angry students up even more, and now all of his staff were actively upset with him as well: the Dumbledore supporters for his calling the immoral old bastard an immoral old bastard (not that all of Skeeter's rubbish book was true, but he had himself pointed her toward a few key facts, so it wasn't _all_ rubbish, either); the Carrows for limiting their influence on the students through mandatory classes (though doubtless they would have more than their share of contact with them in detentions); the Heads of House for demanding that they do their powers-bedamned _jobs_ , as they had not for at _least_ ten years; the returning students for many of the same reasons, and the new students for having been forced into this situation.

Even Aurora was furious with him for giving Slughorn his position back, rather than making her the Head of Slytherin, though it hadn't been his decision. The Board and the other Heads of House had determined that as he had held the position before, and had seniority over nearly every other professor in the school, Horace must be given the position. And then Wilkes, that obsequious fuck, had talked the Dark Lord out of allowing the Carrows or Severus himself to simply kill the fat old wanker – 'My Lord, he can help to convince more students of the wisdom of making connections within your organization – he did, after all, send you _generations_ of loyal Death Eaters, did he not?'

With Dumbledore gone, it seemed the Dark Lord no longer considered Slughorn a threat, so he was allowed to live.

It made Severus sick, to think of all the effort he had put into teaching his Snakes the fine arts of fence-sitting, equivocation and rational decision-making (with a few notable failures in recent years), going to waste in his predecessor's hands, but there was nothing he could do. At least this meant that it would be Slughorn at the mercy of his angry new students rather than Aurora: she had spent far too long cultivating a reputation of harmlessness to gain firm enough control of the house to keep them in line now, in a time of war, with a sudden influx of _nearly two-hundred_ children of all ages upsetting the careful balance of power within the House. Not that Slughorn was particularly intimidating either, but in his five decades as Head, he had seen just about everything, including several blood feuds carried into the halls of Hogwarts and the rise and fall of Grindelwald. He would handle it. And if he didn't, well, he would be a good scapegoat when all this ended, and the winning side started asking questions about why students were killing each other in the dungeons.

He didn't often have problems with emotional bleed-through – he was fairly certain legilimency would have driven him mad in his late teens if he hadn't learned to shut out the undirected thoughts and feelings non-occlumens unknowingly and habitually projected – but surrounded by nearly nine-hundred minds all directing some degree of negativity in his direction, and not a single source of support, he was getting a bloody migraine. He strengthened the shields surrounding his mind against their ire – truly the basest of occlumency forms requiring hardly any attention to maintain, but the most effective against undirected influences such as this.

It was because he had not been paying his mental defenses any attention before that he had missed a delicate but persistent mental probe, poking at the curtain wall. It wasn't trying to break through, he thought, only looking to gain his attention – not unlike an owl tapping at a window to be let in. There was something odd about the contact, though. It was not a constant pattern and the more he focused on it, the more he realized that there was variation in the _type_ of contact, as well: a sharp _prod_ , and a gentler, more sustained _brush_ across his shields.

 _Prod._ Pause _. Prod. Prod. Brush._ Pause _. Brush. Prod._ Pause _. Prod. Brush._ A long pause, easily three times as long as the previous. _Prod. Prod. Prod._ Pause _. Brush. Brush. Brush._ Pause _. Prod. Prod. Prod._ Then another long pause. _Prod. Brush. Prod. Prod._ Pause _. Prod. Prod. Brush._ Pause _. Brush. Prod._ Pause _. Prod. Brush._

The pattern was repeating.

It was obviously some sort of attempt at communication, though he couldn't imagine by whom, and he wasn't about to engage an unknown mind in an Occlumency battle (or even straightforward telepathic communication) in the middle of the Great Hall. Instead he peered around, trying to unobtrusively determine who could possibly be behind the probe.

None of the professors. There were better methods of communication available, and they could easily have found a way to engage him during the pre-feast staff meeting, had they so desired. Not Zabini: he was deep in conversation with Nott and Greengrass. Not Bones, for she was pointedly avoiding his gaze. Higgs and Rowle were looking in his direction, but they had no reason to try to contact him via clumsy legilimency – their fathers were Death Eaters; if they wanted to speak to him, all they had to do was come to his bloody office. Several of the new students were glaring at him, but none of them should have any reason to suspect his skill with the mind arts. Grey? Perhaps. He hadn't thought the heir to that particular house had been learning this particular skill (and he did keep tabs on that), but the probe was not so powerful – he could have just started… but no, he turned away, even as Severus watched.

He let his gaze drift down the Ravenclaw table. There were no other likely candidates there – except… _Lovegood_. She had her usual, dreamy-eyed expression firmly in place, but she was staring unblinkingly at _him_ , rather than one of her fellow students.

He caught her eye, and the pattern changed.

_Prod-prod-prod-prod. Prod. Prod-brush-prod-prod. Prod-brush-prod-prod. Brush-brush-brush._

It stopped. She closed her eyes, then opened them slightly wider than usual – an invitation to legilimency if ever he had seen one.

He glared at her.

Generally speaking, Severus had a policy against using legilimency on students, especially in public, when he hadn't even the faintest hint of just cause, but she started up the seemingly-random poking again ( _prod-brush-brush prod-prod-prod-prod prod-brush brush_ ) and it was really quite irritating now that he was aware of it. Enough so that he decided to make an exception, just this once.

He opened a connection between their minds with the silent, wandless expression of will which came so naturally to him, and pushed a coherent thought across to her: _What do you_ want _, Miss Lovegood?_

Her relief was nearly palpable, though she clearly had no experience actually speaking telepathically. Her reply took the form of several dozen disjointed images and memories, intermixed with slowly-'translated,' audiated words:

[whispers in the darkness, the passing of messages, a sense of understanding and collusion between two unspecified forces] **_An alliance_** _._

[Dumbledore's broken form at the base of the Tower; the Magician reversed, her own hand turning the card face-down] **_The Chessmaster is gone._**

[a timeline of the Dark Lord's activities over the past year, confusion, fear, insanity; the Devil over Death; a sense of terrible intemperance; _'Delendo Est_ , _'_ the truly disturbing magical painting of Destruction and Chaos torturing the Dark Lord Tyrannous into insanity, and her horror at seeing for the first time] **_And the Thief is mad_** _._

[his own face, sneering at a classroom; himself in an imagined scene, dressed in motley, mocking a game of chess between Dumbledore and the Dark Lord; caught between two mirrors and endless reflections, each one slightly changed, until, in the distance, he was nothing but a faceless, dark-haired blur; a fuzzy memory of a female voice – perhaps not human – whispering ' _contradiction'_ ] _ **You are a creature of Deception.**_

[another conjured scene, of Death Eaters on a stage, casting 'unforgivables' with muggle smoke and mirrors, (over) acting death scenes, and himself sneaking off-stage before the scene change, laying aside his mask and pulling on his teaching robes before striding into Act II.] **_Your façade is the only thing I know for certain is untrue._**

[a page from a medieval grimoire detailing oaths of loyalty, fidelity, and homage; her father's voice explaining: 'if the Lord forsakes his followers, then the followers are honor bound to forsake their Lord in turn…'; himself, bloodied and barely-conscious, staggering back to the Castle after re-pledging his 'loyalty' that first night, her voice saying, ' _Rest now, Professor Phobetor_ ,' as she cast a sleeping charm on him, and levitated him to the Castle; Potter's voice: ' _He killed Dumbledore – he killed him – Snape. He's chosen his side!'_ ] _ **Ergo your loyalty is not to the Thief.**_

[an echo of his words from an hour before: ' _take this into account as you consider the myriad opportunities for_ … mischief.']

[barren plains, scorched by spellfire, filled with death and corruption (Was that Sierra Leone? _When was Lovegood in Sierra Leone?!_ ); the Dark Lord seated on a throne of skulls, a great serpent coiling around him, and people, at his feet, bowing, dressed all in black, their faces thin and tortured beneath their cowls] **_There is no future if he is victorious in the end._**

[a memory of a musical, children on a barricade, a snatch of song] **_I speak for the rebellious children._**

[the faces of Potter, Weasley, and Granger, superimposed on an image of Fawkes, a chess castle, and a book – the faces faded away and the remaining images shifted, the phoenix bursting into flame and the castle transforming to a knight as the book became a scrying-glass] **_For the Paladin and the Phoenix._**

[Dumbledore's Army, training fiercely in what must be the Room of Requirement, covered by the flickering, superimposed faces of hundreds of students, both new and old, their expressions angry and scared, but undaunted] **_And those who will not bow before the Thief and his agents._**

[another echo of his words: _'apply yourselves a bit more outside of lessons to make up for the deficit' 'maintain vigilance and caution' 'assist your new peers in avoiding the unexpected dangers'_ ; the predatory expressions worn by the Carrow twins; a fierce determination to keep them away from the little ones, the ones whose hands she remembered shaking as they were Sorted] **_Whom you are also now bound to protect_** _._

 ** _If we_** [her friends, her father, the Quibbler, her house, the children, an open field and clear skies and a sense of freedom] **_are to survive this war_** [the Ministry, the Prophet building, Azkaban; a quote, from a muggle film in a theater: ' _We can rebuild him. We have the technology. We can make him better than he was…'_ ; the same sense of collusion and understanding she had led with, but this time, instead of indistinct whispers in the darkness, it was paired with a meeting she had attended when she was very small, between her father and one of his suppliers, a business deal, held in the open; certainty and uncertainty mixed together to form an uncomfortable anxiety demanding action] _ **we shall need to cooperate, I think.**_

Severus hesitated. He could, he suspected, spend days analyzing those particular memories and images, beginning with the fact that she had not included herself or himself in the sense of 'we' who would survive the war, ending with an examination of exactly how she managed to return him to his quarters back in 1995 (for he had woken up there, and assumed he managed to drag himself there in his post-torture fugue-state), and definitely including questioning what madman had allowed a schoolgirl into the Restricted Vault of the Etrurian Archives somewhere along the way, but none of that was terribly important _now._

 _Why would you trust me?_ he sent back. _You are taking an awfully large risk; all Death Eaters are sworn to the Dark Lord until death and beyond._

Her response was rather brief and lacked any sort of audiated response: another muggle film quote: _'come on in, the water's fine!'_ as she opened her eyes even wider.

He was slightly tempted to wait and see exactly how far she could bug them out, but unfortunately his curiosity about her sudden desire to form an alliance, and the temptation to gather whatever information she might hold regarding the formation of a student rebellion (Already. Less than twelve hours into the year. _Three_ , if you didn't count their time on the train. Bloody buggering hellfire!) won out.

He divided his attention and slipped into her mind, that part of his consciousness no longer seeing her with his eyes, but _focusing/feeling/sensing/kenning_ her thoughts and her senses with his magic. He heard a new Ravenclaw ask his neighbor if she was okay, and the neighbor say, "It's just Looney. She's always like that."

He felt her face tighten as she smiled pleasantly, still not looking away from him, across the room. "Headmaster Snape seems to be afflicted by a Meddling Flibbertigibbet," she explained absently.

"A what, now?" the new Eaglet asked.

" _Don't_ ask," he was advised.

He turned inward, seeking her consciousness, rather than her senses. _A Meddling Flibbertigibbet, Miss Lovegood?_

 _Don't pretend you don't think it appropriate_ , she thought back, the "words" drifting to him on an idle breeze.

He declined to respond, advising her instead that she needn't maintain eye-contact any longer if she preferred not to: in truth, eye-contact was as much a focus-crutch as a wand – she was not fighting him, so there was little need for any external focus once the connection was firmly established.

She continued staring anyway, with a semi-coherent thought along the lines that she had nothing better to do at the moment anyway.

It was surprisingly difficult to maintain his own avatar within her mind. She seemed to have taken the term 'air-head' to heart, modeling her thoughts as currents and movement in otherwise empty space, as far as he could perceive. Memories were light from nowhere, and shadows cast by nothing, affected by the movement of thoughts, drifting along curves and forming constantly shifting shapes that he vaguely recognized from NEWT Arithmancy ( _gods and powers he hated Arithmancy_ ). He suspected that in order to pin down the organization and meaning behind them would require a third or seventh or ninth derivative of the pattern, which was in itself more than sufficient deterrence for most legilimensers, even disregarding the fact that the medium was so completely _foreign_.

 _Seventh_ , she thought at him, and a wave of amusement enveloped him. _And I find it highly ironic that such a water person thinks air too foreign – both are fluid, after all. Just_ relax _, why don't you?_

 _It's not the air that's strange, it's the_ light _,_ he pointed out techily. And he had maintained an avatar because it was _rude_ to be too unobtrusive when one was an invited guest. Nevertheless, he allowed his humanoid form to dissolve into a cloud – an easy half-state between his own mindscape and hers.

 _That's much better,_ she thought. _The memory-structures aren't_ light _, though – they're aetheric whirlpools._

 _Because that's a far more common medium,_ he snarked, and was met by another wave of amusement, this one flowing _through_ him, like a rather warm, delightful ghost. He could see it now, though, how memories could be encapsulated in whirlpools, shifting associations as they moved from one locale to the next and the aether-constructs flowed through their own circuits, no doubt in perpetual motion as the gravity of memories pulled them in one direction or another, not unlike the way winds were created by differences in air temperature and density.

It was beautiful, in a way, and quite unlike anything he had ever seen, despite decades of experience as a legilimens.

 _Thank you,_ she thought at him. _If you're ready, I can show you why I approached you?_

He projected assent, and was immediately drawn into a whirlpool, the experience not unlike falling into a pensieve, save that his focus was already split between his own body and her mind. Examining a memory using legilimency was always a rather uncomfortable experience, because it put him into the position of the person to whom the memory belonged, aware of their thoughts and feelings in the moment, as they re-lived the memory.

The pensieve would be infinitely preferable, but it was hardly ever an option.

In this case, he was dropped immediately into a void, not entirely unlike the result of an Isolation Hex – no body, no senses, only the knowledge that he did, in fact, exist, and was (probably) dreaming.

xXx

_That conclusion was confirmed a moment later, as a voice spoke from everywhere and nowhere, an avatar coalescing out of the darkness._

_She was a plain young woman, no older than Miss Lovegood, round of face, with a complexion that made Severus think of Old Ireland, and reddish-brown hair to match, but her eyes spoke of inhuman origins, mirror-bright and heavy – not_ old _, per se, but he had the impression that she had been young for a_ very _long time._

_Luna created an avatar for herself as well, and bowed before the newcomer. "My Lady Gelach," she greeted the phantasm. "How are you here?" A bolt of fear struck through the girl. She knew it to be Lammastide – her lady was far too weak now to manifest and speak under her own power alone. That she was indicated a message most urgent._

_"Namesake child," it replied, brushing a kiss across her brow and ignoring the question. "Listen well, for time is short."_

_Luna's avatar, somewhat younger than her physical form, nodded hesitantly._

_"You are living in dark times, my child. For the sake of the innocent of Magical Britain, I must demand a sacrifice of you."_

_"S-sacrifice?"_

_The apparition nodded solemnly. "It has been decided, now, by those with more influence than I, how the end of your war must play out. It will be down to Order and Chaos, at the end, as always, but for the sake of the children caught in the crossfire between then and your now, you must leave my realm."_

_"I… you mean…?"_

_The goddess nodded. "As your mother once broke our covenant and promised your service in her stead, so I now do the same – though I must offer a different gift in honor of your service."_

_Luna's avatar was crying, terror swirling incoherently through her mind._

_"Please, my lady – why?"_

_"There is no place for innocence in war, Moon-child," the phantom said sadly. "And I fear you shall need every bit of potential you can muster ere the end falls."_

_"I-I understand," Luna sniffled._

_The goddess_ bowed, _as though they were equals. "So shall it be, then."_

_Luna, obviously taken aback, bowed in return. "I… is there anything else, Lady Gelach?"_

_"There is. I send you back to the world not as my Dedicate, nor as my Avatar, but… as a Champion of Innocence. I cannot demand it of you by right of patronage, but I may ask –_ must _ask of you: Protect the children of Hogwarts."_

_A hint of offended dignity challenged the sorrow and fear still lingering in Luna's mind. "Of course I shall!" The goddess truly had not even had to ask whether she would take on such a mission._

_Gelach beamed, radiance spreading outward from her form. "Thank you, Luna. Innocence shall owe you a boon for your service. I must go, but know this: you are not alone in your quest. The Paladin shall take up his sword, and the Phoenix will light the way forward. Trust the Contradiction: the creature of Deception who is sworn to protect the Innocent, the one whose lies protect the Truth – find him and in this he will aid you… The Paladin and the Phoenix are yours to command, but the Contradiction is the key to your success…"_

_Luna bowed again, as Gelach's avatar dissolved into the slivery light which was now spreading to every corner of the girl's quickly-fading mindscape, searing at…_ something _, dissolving some sort of foreign influence, though Severus could not have said what it was, in the moment. It – she? – began to fade away, darkness falling. Cold and terror closed in for a moment, but then there was a… a shock of sorts. An infusion of light, of magic, of_ life _, Severus realized with a shudder as the girl opened her eyes, her consciousness focused outward again. Her father was desperately chanting the words of the_ Vis Datio _– a life-force transfer ritual._

_He threw himself on her, crying, almost immediately. "Luna – Luna – my baby – I almost lost you!"_

_She patted him awkwardly on the back, her limbs heavy and exhausted. "It's okay, Daddy," she said, her voice equally weak._

_"What happened? I just came in, and you were – you weren't breathing, moonbeam!"_

_Luna shivered._ I knew she didn't have the strength to speak like that _… she thought, but her answer was a quote: "'To break the bond between Power and Acolyte requires a sacrifice of the highest order…' There are some things I need to tell you, Daddy."_

xXx

Severus extracted himself from the memory with some difficulty, echoes of the scene that followed clinging to him as he made his way back to the semi-conscious liminal space where he could speak to the girl directly. He wondered how he had never seen the signs before: _obviously_ Lovegood was a White Mage. Or had been, he supposed. Her presence at all of the Slytherin holiday celebrations; the way she seemed to know more than she possibly should or could about all manner of things; and the half-mad, metaphor-laden, oracular presentation of her thoughts all, quite suddenly, made perfect sense. Though he wasn't sure he wanted to know how old she was when she was dedicated. The goddess Gelach seemed to have been an Aspect of the Naïve Power, so she had to have been a child. In fact, the nature of her Patron likely contributed to the wide-eyed, slightly fey persona which had so irritated him in years prior – she must have done her utmost to maintain the more youthful, less worldly aspects of her personality after witnessing her mother's death a bare two years before coming to Hogwarts – he had been called to look over the scene of the so-called Potions Accident, and the traces he had found spoke of an event which would shatter the innocence of any child.

Still, all that was long past.

 _What gift did the Power give you?_ he asked, forcing his own thoughts back to the scene he had just witnessed.

_When I was sworn into her service, a sort of empathy, which I seem to have retained, and when she released me… clarity._

_Clarity?_

A sense of certainty washed through him, contrasted with a muddled sort of confusion which he could all too easily imagine as her base state in years prior. It was, in fact, much more in keeping with his perception of her than the clean, clear mindscape they presently inhabited.

 _Clarity,_ she repeated.

 _Very well._ He would need to think about this, he decided. But he thought he probably would help her, in the end. Even if the goddess hadn't ordained it (and he could not argue with Miss Lovegood's interpretation of 'creature of deception, sworn to protect the innocent'), it would only help him to have _some_ influence on the children's rebellion (even whatever limited influence Miss Lovegood could possibly wield). _I shall contact you as needed._

 _Or I you_ , she responded almost instantly, with a wave of relief.

He sent a pulse of resignation at her. _Do work on your legilimency skills. All that tapping was bloody irritating, and audiation should not require a slew of audio-visual aides._

 _I thought the Morse code was quite clever_.

_Morse? – thrice-cursed, obscure… Just work on your legilimency._

He felt something like amusement wash over him as he extracted himself from her mind, concentrating fully on his food and the stony silence surrounding him at the Head Table. Yes, he would _definitely_ have to think about that one.


End file.
